


This world is not Conclusion

by whyyesitscar



Series: first invent the universe [2]
Category: Warehouse 13
Genre: Bering and Wells AU Week, F/F
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-06-15
Updated: 2014-06-22
Packaged: 2018-02-04 19:11:50
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 3,113
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1790068
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/whyyesitscar/pseuds/whyyesitscar
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Collection of loosely strung-together Doctor HG drabbles and bits continuing in the same universe as "a day is long (and i will be waiting for you)" and updated whenever I get inspired.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> I had more plans for doctor HG after I wrote "a day is long" and they never really seemed to come together because I couldn't really decide on a storyline for any of them. But then I realized they didn't have to be that connected because the Doctor's life is so all over the place, and also it's my fanfic and I can do what I want with it. Et voilà! Here we are.
> 
> Also, cover art at the beginning so generously made by [lazarus_girl](http://archiveofourown.org/users/lazarus_girl) who continues to be the most magnificent beta and supporter.

She recognizes it by the smell.

It isn’t the same smell (none of the buildings have smelled the same), and yet, if she were guided to this place blindfolded, asleep, or even heavily concussed, she could identify it purely by smell. It is much the same way she imagines friends recognize her after a regeneration.

Helena—she has kept the name, even after the need for it has passed—pauses a moment to smell the Warehouse. She steps outside of the TARDIS, slips her hands into her pockets, takes a great big sniff, and waits.

(Helena knows why she is here. In time, others will know as well but until then, she waits.)

Her eyes are closed for mere seconds before an enormous boom shakes the building.

When she opens them, she tries to contain the glint of adventure that always seems to twinkle.

Most people would flee from explosions. Helena grins again and runs toward them.

/

“Artie, did you say I had to check the Ancient Archives? Can’t you make Myka do it; she actually _likes_ this stuff.”

“Stop whining and find whatever’s exploding!”

Helena stops leaning against the TARDIS, pushing herself off with her foot. She watches a man—a well-built man, she notices—turn the corner into her aisle at a jog, scratching his head and grumbling.

“I could be checking the Joe Naismith aisle, but nooo...oh.” He stops short as he sees her. His frown turns into a cocky smirk and Helena has to stop herself from smiling. “Hello, there.”

Helena smiles anyway. “Hello to you as well.”

He folds his arms, not-so-subtly drawing focus to his biceps and pectorals, and Helena almost rolls her eyes.

“You know,” he says, “we don’t get many visitors to the Warehouse, and especially not ones we don’t know about.”

“Ah, yes, well, you may not know about me, Mr…”

“Lattimer,” he finishes with another grin. “But _you_ can call me Pete.”

“You may not know me Mr. Lattimer,” Helena repeats, “but the Warehouse surely does.”

“Huh?”

“Is Irene still in the Warehouse’s employ?”

“Who what now?”

Another explosion thuds and Helena furrows her brows. “That sounds like—but no, it can’t be; we neutralized that ages ago…” She turns back toward Pete. “Has anyone thought to check artifacts from the Song dynasty?”

“Um…”

“That would be”—she cocks her ear—“four aisles over and two up, if I’m not mistaken?”

Pete seems to finally realize that she knows a great deal about the Warehouse, and he stands straighter as his protective instincts kick in. “Look, lady, I don’t know how you know all this stuff, but I wasn’t kidding when I said we didn’t get many visitors, and I’m definitely not kidding when I say that we don’t always take kindly to them.”

“As well you shouldn’t,” Helena agrees, “but this is not the time for that. Please follow me.”

“Please follow _you_? I know the ins and outs of this building way better than you do.”

“What is the aisle number for Song dynasty artifacts?”

Pete scoffs. “Easy one. That’s, um, A-12…niner…lead the way,” he finally concedes.

/

The Song dynasty aisle is, in fact, exploding. When Helena and Pete get there, there are already two women aiming canisters filled with neutralizing liquid at the shelves. Helena inwardly marvels at humans and their innovations.

She also cringes at their ability to put themselves in danger; every blast echoes closer and closer to being a fatal one.

“Okay, Miss Know-It-All, go at it.” Pete gestures toward the explosions, and one of the women turns around at the sound of his voice.

“Pete?” Her curly hair shakes as it whips against her cheeks. “What are”—she finally notices Helena—“who is she? What’s going on? Do you know how to stop these things?”

“To which ‘you’ are you referring, darling?” Helena inquires.

“ _Darling?_ ”

Helena steps forward anyway. “If you’ll allow me to assist…” Helena pulls out her screwdriver and points it at various artifacts, trying to determine which one is the root of the problem.

The woman steps in front of her, blocking any clear path. “I’m sorry, who are you?”

“Forgive me. I am the Doctor.” Helena smiles and extends a hand.

The woman doesn’t take it. “Okay, well, _Doctor_ —you reek of fudge.”

“She does? I don’t smell it,” Pete chimes in.

“I thought you were supposed to be the one with vibes.”

“Maybe my vibes are better than your fudge.”

“Maybe you need to get your nose checked.”

“Less bickering, more preventing explosions!” the other woman yells from in front of them. Her red hair is singed at the tips and Helena fears she is in danger of losing an eyebrow.

“Oh, shoot, Claud; I’m sorry!” the first woman responds, jogging back with a canister of neutralizer.

“You’ll never find it that way,” Helena says.

“And I suppose you have a better way?”

“Always,” she smiles.

“I don’t know who you—”

“Myka, if she knows how to help I’m not exactly complaining about it.”

Helena nods her approval. “Thank you, Claud.”

“—ia. Is the last part of my name. Claudia.”

“Oh. Well, thank you, Claudia.”

“I thought you were supposed to be doing something,” Myka challenges.

“Yes, right, absolutely.” Helena whips out her sonic screwdriver again. Sometimes, like right now, she wishes it were more outwardly impressive. Pete seems to be impressed by its buzzing, but Helena gathers that it doesn’t take much to impress him.

“What exactly are you doing?” Myka asks, pacing too close beside her.

“Checking to see which artifact is causing all this ruckus.”

“And how are you doing that?”

“By igniting small explosions in each artifact and measuring their frequencies.”

“Small _explosions_?”

“ _Very_ small ones, darling.”

“I think you need to—”

“I found it!” Helena feels triumphant for one moment, and then her screwdriver beeps. “Oh, bollocks.”

“‘Oh bollocks’? Oh bollocks what?”

“I would suggest you duck.”

“What—”

“Get down, Myka!”

Helena sees Pete and Claudia flinch as the artifact detonates inches from the space her face used to occupy. Myka’s face as well, for that matter, which might account for the angry breathing beneath her.

Helena realizes a beat too late that she has flattened herself against her irritated companion. For safety, she’ll maintain if Myka asks.

“You set off that artifact,” Myka says in a slightly muffled voice.

“Quite on accident, I assure you,” Helena replies. “But it is able to be neutralized now, so if I might just…”

“If you get up, I’ll Tesla you.”

Helena smiles involuntarily. “You’re that quick?”

“Try me.”

There is a pop from above and the crinkle of a static bag. “Problem solved!” Claudia says from above them.

Helena takes the opportunity to push herself up off the floor. “Well,” she says, clapping the dust off her hands, “that was splendid, don’t you think?”

“Maybe not the word I’d use,” Pete says.

“ _Definitely_ not the word I’d use,” Myka adds.

“Perhaps that is because you aren’t familiar with the vast volatility of that artifact. Please, read its tag.”

Myka glares before bending down to look at the screen. “Emperor Huizong’s firework,” she reads. “Contains a blast equivalent to the entire Chinese army.”

“A martial demonstration gone awry, I’m afraid,” Helena explains.

“If the blast is that strong, why didn’t it level the Warehouse?”

Helena twiddles her screwdriver between her fingers. “Small explosion, remember?”

“Nice one,” Claudia grins, holding her hand up for a high five. Helena recognizes the gesture a second too late; Pete fills in instead.

“Hang on,” Myka interrupts, eyes still focused on the firework’s tag. “‘Acquired June 1899, I. Frederic and H. Wells.’ I. _Frederic_? Like, Mrs. Frederic?”

Helena’s eyes light up in recognition. “You _do_ know Irene!”

Irene Frederic, who chooses that exact moment to show up.

(Helena taught her that trick.)

“Helena?”

“Irene!”

“Irene?”

“ _Helena_?”

“Claudia!”

“Claudia…”

(Blissful silence, and then—)

“…Pete.”

Irene silences him with a glare, then clasps her hands in front of her. “Helena, it’s good to see you,” she says, offering a rare smile. “It’s been a long time.”

“A few decades, give or take,” Helena jokes. “I see they’ve spruced this place right up. And you’re in America now! How forward.”

“Well, it was at the turn of the century,” Irene quips. “Things have changed a little over the years.”

“Is Notting still running the place?”

“New Warehouse, new Caretaker,” Irene smiles. “It’s mine now.”

Helena smiles back. “That’s absolutely wonderful.”

“Crazy question,” Claudia interrupts, “but would anyone like to fill us in?”

Helena grins at Claudia at the exact time Irene glares at her; Claudia’s eyes flit between the two, eventually settling on addressing Helena.

“My apologies, darling,” she begins. “I am the Doctor, known to friends as Helena. I had hoped to keep that part of me a mystery for at least a little while longer—it’s good to have mysteries, you know. But circumstances do not always allow, so feel free to call me what you wish.”

“What are you doing here?” Myka asks.

“I have, in the past, been known to act as a sort of consultant for the Warehouse. It seems this one needs my help as well.”

“ _This_ one? Just how many have you—”

“What’s that blue box?” Pete blurts.

“Ah, well, that is the TARDIS, my mode of transportation.”

Myka scoffs. “You get around in a telephone box? What, does it have wheels or something?”

“Or something,” Helena grins, not at all put off by her scowl. As scowls go, it is one of the better ones she’s seen. “Would you like to see what it does?”

“Not really.”

“Irene, may I steal one of your Agents for a trip?”

There is a twinkle in Irene’s eye that Helena has sorely missed. “Unfortunately, Agents Donovan and Lattimer have prior engagements”—she raises her voice slightly over Pete and Claudia’s protests—“but Agent Bering is absolutely free.”

“By the way you’re looking at me, darling, I would assume your surname is Bering.” Helena extends a hand to Myka. “Join me, won’t you?”

“Did you read a lot of King Arthur stories as a kid?”

“Read them? No. But I will admit to playing a hand in more than a few.”

“What?”

“Do you enjoy stories, Agent Bering?”

“I love them,” she grumbles.

“Well then, which would you like to see?”

“That depends on what my choices are.”

Helena unlocks the TARDIS and swings the door open, smiling again.

“All of them.”


	2. Chapter 2

“Are you this pushy with everyone you meet?”

“Only those whom I feel I need to impress.”

“I suppose that’s a compliment.”

“It is,” Helena smiles, “and won’t you do me the honor of testing it?” She gestures once more to the inside of the TARDIS. “I promise you, I harbor no ill will. There is no danger in there.”

Myka bunches her eyebrows together skeptically. “Are you sure?”

“The TARDIS doesn’t bring me any danger, darling; it’s entirely the other way around.”

“You’re not exactly convincing me to travel with you.”

“Then don’t listen to me; listen to my ship.” Myka remains stationary (and unconvinced.) “Do you really think Irene would align herself with someone inherently malicious?”

“Not to her knowledge.”

“Well if it turns out I am a dastardly villain, you shall get all the credit of telling her.”

Myka narrows her eyes just once more before stepping through the doorway. Helena grins before following her; she’s certainly not one to miss the gasps of delight upon seeing the TARDIS for the first time.

Myka, as it turns out, is not the gasping type, though her eyes hold more wonder than Helena has seen in many worlds.

“This…is not possible,” she finally blurts.

“And yet here you stand.”

“This ship defies almost every law of physics.”

“Well, only the ones you know about.”

Myka stops gawking long enough to glare at Helena. She crosses to the console and runs her fingers over the metal frame, absently admiring in spite of the prickly exterior she’s worked so hard at portraying. Not that Helena would have been put off either way. Prickly is her specialty.

“What is it that you do on this ship, exactly?”

Helena hops the two steps up to the console and leans on the railing, crossing her arms. “I’m just a traveler, really. I’ve got rather an unbearable case of wanderlust and a time machine that helps me stave off the restlessness.”

“I’m, um, I’m sorry—time machine?” Myka splutters.

“ _And_ a space ship,” Helena smiles. “Would you like to see?”

(She doesn’t wait for an answer. Helena punches in coordinates as Myka is in the process of forming an objection, and they take off before Myka can so much as speak two words.

There are times for waiting; Helena is excellent at it. This is not one of them.)

Myka stumbles backward to clutch onto the railing. “Where are we going?”

“A lovely planet called Quintilis.”

“Why, what’s on Quintilis?”

“Hopefully something that impresses you.”

Myka tightens her grip for the rest of the journey, her knuckles shining white and strained. It is a quick journey, as these things go. Helena barely registers the trip. To Myka, though, it must seem a lifetime. Anxiety stretches over her cheeks like a mask. Helena can only hope their destination will soothe her worry lines.

The TARDIS comes to a shuddering stop and Myka opens her eyes, having closed them after a little slip in the time vortex jostled the ship. Helena flips switches and levers, putting on the parking brake and activating alarms lest a pair of curious hands get too close. They’re alarms she installed after having procured the TARDIS with the most curious pair of hands in the universe.

She swings the door open and steps out, not waiting for Myka to follow. She will follow regardless; Helena knows this. She’s curious, too.

Quintilis is a planet Helena visits more often than most. The entire surface is made of rubies, and they glint brilliantly against the soft palette of the sky. Twin suns rise orange and set green, the kind of olive hue that dominated so many appliances in the 1970s. It isn’t an aesthetic that most people favor now, but Helena has always had a soft spot for it.

Shoes crunch against jewels as Myka stands beside her. “Quintilis—like July?” she asks.

Helena hums her assent. “Humans have a more enduring and far-reaching impact than you might realize. You’re a resilient bunch.”

“We? Not you?”

“English lasts for millennia,” Helena says in lieu of an answer.

“So why isn’t this place called July?”

“I may have had a hand in naming it,” Helena smiles, remembering. “I do have such a soft spot for dead languages.”

“It’s beautiful,” Myka murmurs.

“It is,” Helena agrees. She takes a deep breath and watches as the rubies sparkle. The people who live here think nothing of the ground upon which they walk. A planet of rubies is special only to those who do not know them.

“We only have twenty minutes here, twenty five if we’re daring. The atmosphere becomes toxic after prolonged exposure.”

“Why, what’s in the air?”

Helena turns her head toward Myka. A breeze filled with jewel dust brushes against their cheeks; the green in Myka’s eyes catches in the light. It is fast approaching becoming dangerous, but Helena has to remind herself to breathe.

“Do you know,” she muses, “I’ve never cared to find out.” Myka crinkles her brow in confusion. “You could stay here as long as you wished, my dear. The human respiratory system is more than compatible with the atmosphere. No, this planet is a danger only to me.”

Myka has the good grace not to ask why. Helena takes one last look and returns to the ship.

/

“Okay, well, I believe you about the spaceship part.”

Helena sighs as she locks the door. When she turns to face Myka, she is all smiles again. “I assume that means time travel needs more convincing?”

Myka laughs and twists the skin on her middle finger. “No, I believe that part, too. I just…still want to test it, if that’s okay.”

“As long as it doesn’t interfere with your personal timeline, I am glad to take you anywhere you’d like to go.”

“Okay, well, I think it was sometime in the ‘80s…”

/

Once again, Helena and Myka stand and observe, watching rather than interacting. It isn’t usually how Helena operates, but she has a feeling that Myka is not a usual person.

They’re on Earth this time, not a dazzling landscape of gems, but Myka’s smile shines bright enough to challenge it. They both laugh as they watch families in a park. Myka focuses on one in particular, watching a brother and sister laugh and play together.

“She’s deaf,” Helena says after a while.

“Yeah,” Myka confirms. “How could you tell?”

“It’s in the way she moves,” Helena explains. “I don’t know if I could really ever put it into words, but I can recognize it. And how gentle he is with her. How time can change a man,” she jokes.

Myka twinkles a soft laugh. “Pete’s still gentle. It’s just not the first thing you see about him.”

“Why did you want to come here, out of everywhere you could be?”

Myka shrugs and folds her arms. “Pete is my best friend and we talk a lot about the past, but never really our childhood. Maybe because both of ours kind of sucked. I just—I guess I just wanted to make sure that there were happy times, too.”

“You could go say hi.”

By the way Myka’s eyes well with tears, her mouth drawing down for just an instant before she composes herself, Helena can see just how much she wants to do that. Instead, she shakes her head, swallows back tears that were never going to fall anyway, and smiles.

“No,” she whispers, laughing as Pete digs into a picnic basket and comes away with more food than can fit into his tiny arms. “No, I don’t want to take the chance that Jane might recognize me thirty years from now.”

“Well, we could sit for a spell on this marvelous bench.”

Myka smiles and wraps her coat tight around her, pulling with her hands in her pockets. “I’d like that.”

“Jane is Pete’s mother?” Helena asks as they sit down. “I’d never have guessed.”

“You know Jane?”

“Well, we met once. I doubt she’d remember me.”

“One meeting with you? I doubt she’d forget it.”

Time has a different meaning for Helena than it does for most people. Today, she is glad for it.


End file.
